The Game of War
by Absol Master
Summary: War is a dangerous game. In it are written countless gambles, risks and sacrifices made for the sake of strategy. But these things are so much easier to do with playing cards or game pieces—when human lives are involved, things aren’t so clear. Oneshot.


Some thoughts. I have been dying to write something that actually involves the raw formation of battle tactics, and I've finally come to it.

This piece compares war to gambling, as well as to a board game. Might get a little weird at these analogous sections.

* * *

The Game of War

It was like a gamble, with all the stakes, the risks, the prices and all—except the stakes were a million times higher, the risks infinite, and the price of loss something that I could never pay. I counted on winning at every venture, on losing at none—no loss could leave any good, even if I did take an equal prize from my opponent.

For this was the battlefield, and every loss was irreplaceable.

I was a gambler at the top of my game. The wins had come easy so far—but I had to keep my guard up. Luck could turn on you at any moment—one moment, you might be basking in your power, and in the next, you might find your world crashing down around you.

Warfare is a dangerous game. One loss, and you might never be able to redeem yourself.

My men were settled around a fire upon the forest floor, our camp for the night. They laughed uproariously at jokes as the boars roasted upon the fire, some of the quiter army members carefully scripting letters to their relatives, or attempting to strike up casual conversations with one another.

"How's the food?" Serra had become a good friend of mine since we had reformed the army under Eliwood and Hector. The Cleric certainly hadn't been too well-received by the rest, and I did find she had a few dislikeable quirks. But she was entertaining to talk to.

Serra was staring at the fire, face contorted in deliberation, on whether to eat or not.

I lowered my hunk of meat. "The usual," I replied. "Tough. Burnt. But it's—pretty good."

"Urgh, burnt _again_," her groan was familiar, and it had actually started to represent familiarity, to me. I would never feel that I was in the right place until I had heard Serra's voice.

She took her dinner anyway. Serra soon returned to her seat beside me, and we conversed as we ate—a bad habit we both shared.

For those minutes, I reflected. I had never really liked my life as the commander of an army. But people like Serra made it so much more bearable—they provided me with company, conversation and gossip. Somehow, the ruthless technicality of warfare was overridden by the humanity of every man and woman at my side.

But as a tactician, a master in the art, one would never be left without hard choices—between well-being and victory, between saving only the invaluable, and keeping all alive. Like gambling, the game was always against the player.

It was an important battle that day, one that would decide a great deal on our standing in the war. Earlier on, I had sent Matthew and Legault behind enemy lines with one member card among them. Now I had detailed plans on their formations and offensive strategy. Lowen and Rebecca had everyone well-fed, and Marcus was there boosting morale with his preparatory speech.

Here I sat in my tent, studying the plans. Only Kent sat at my side.

"Concentrate forces on the west side," he advised from my right as we both peered into the map.

I nodded in agreement. "We'll have Hector break down the snag there," I pointed to indicate it, "then the rest will cross. Pegasus Knights stay east; they'll take the shamans first. Then Lyn—she's our secret weapon for this battle. She'll move ahead of the rest with a guard, then take down the line of Warriors there."

This time, Kent didn't make a sound I turned, and he gave a small, uneasy nod. "I agree with your strategy, but…if it is in your power, don't let Lady Lyndis…fall…"

I gave him a smile of promise. "Yes, of course," I answered sincerely. She was, after all, my very best playing piece here; my trump card. She was powerful in this set-up. I wouldn't let her fall. "She will stay safe. So it's set then," I rolled up the map, hands already growing cold, my throat tingling with unhappy anticipation. Kent stood and bowed to me before leaving. I followed, feeling the coldness of the morning grow around me.

And so the cards had been shuffled and laid down. The game's outcome, even played with the greatest skill and deliberation, was now in the hands of the spirits.

Everything was proceeding well, an hour later. The Pegasus Knights were far ahead, over the mountains in which many shamans were hidden. It would be no problem to them; the mountains were their turf.

Hector had formed a bridge over the wide river with a single swing, and the five chosen units had crossed, including Lyn. The thieves guarded the backlines with Oswin and Kent, and Guy patrolled the fortresses on the east side.

Lyn went on ahead, Serra chosen to be her guard at my command. Then I called for it, and the lady entered the Warriors' range, Serra remaining in a forest's shadow close by.

Even from here, I could see everything that was happening. The first volleys of arrows flew, like curtains of black rain. Lyn was excellent at avoiding them, as usual. I was counting on that.

As the attack died down, I decided it was time to turn to the offensive. My command came.

"Lyn, attack!"

Perhaps it came to early, and I miscalculated. Perhaps I had not considered the possibility that they would attack again. So I was not prepared when a second, equal force of arrows followed the first. They came like rain, and this time, Lyn was in their direct path.

Her scream was empty and shrill. Eight arrows caught her flesh, shot through her skin from eight directions. I stuffed my fingers into my mouth to stifle my own cry, but why—why shouldn't I scream? She _couldn't _die. This was a crucial battle. I needed her to take on the stronger enemies—

_Serra! _"Serra, I need you! Heal her!" Lyn was doubled over, seconds after taking the attack. Serra peered from the trees, looking uncertainly at me.

Of course, I was placing her in their range as well, and it was dangerous, almost definite doom for her, if she wasn't fast enough. But Lyn _had _to live; Lyn had to kill the general.

I watched as the cleric began to tug arrows from Lyn's arms and side, the lady flinching and giving a cry at each pull. The warriors were stringing their bows again, I suddenly noticed.

"Hurry, Serra!"

Her staff glowed blue, sent light into Lyn, then faded.

And as she lowered her staff, they fired again.

Arrows radiated inward; the black streaks tore through the air in a perfect arch shape. Lyn did not fail this time, and her agile feet carried her out of their paths instantly. But for some reason, I knew that what happened next would be inevitable. All, all eight, found their marks in Serra.

This time, the scream seemed to shake the grass. She screamed as she would have when her hair was tangled in branches, or when she had muddied her dress. But I had never heard this much terror, this much pain, in a single cry.

And by the next moment, I knew that I would never hear her voice again. The scream that still rung in my ears belonged to someone nonexistent.

Then, as suddenly as the arrows had struck, as suddenly as Serra's cry had ended, it hit me. I had actually _willingly _sacrificed Serra to save Lyn's life.

_It was the right thing to do! _My mental voice continued to dissuade me of my guilt. _Lyn is of importance, and—_

_And what? Serra isn't? Serra, my closest friend?_

But as with gambling, warfare allows for no mercy. No, no amount of grieving will bring ack your losses. Nothing you do will reverse a mistake you made.

Lyn was doing her job, as instructed. She did it perfectly, took down the Warriors one by one. Everyone performed their functions to perfection, as I had instructed. And the flawless performance earned us a victory. As I had instructed.

Our army came to gather at Merlinus' tent. Some of them were actually cheering. But inside me, I felt hollow, brain-dead. And it wasn't sadness for Serra, or guilt for my actions, I knew. It was the lack of these feelings that made me feel so horrible.

We had won once again. We had achieved every goal that I had charted for the day. But I had never felt so empty in my life.

Losing brought emptiness. You would want to try again, hoping that you would have better luck the next time, hoping that you would manage to win without a glitch. All you needed was another chance.

As we headed down the river in search of a good campsite, I saw Kent coming towards me.

"Thank you," he said. "You kept my lady safe."

His words stung, for they weren't true. "No…I didn't." Shaking my head and ignoring is puzzlement, I ran on ahead.

I peered into the river and gazed on at my face. Eyes wide, mouth in a thin line, no trace of expression on her face—these were the features of a monster.

What had I become? All these people around me, their lives, their smiles, their friendly voices—had they become no more than cards in my hand? I had once cared about them. What had happened to that?

Today, I willingly gave up my best friend's life to preserve the life of another, more crucial playing piece. Had warfare changed me that much? Had my life become no more than a game?

It was like gambling—commanding an army. It would entrap you within its bars of steel for eternity, within a world constructed only of wins and losses, of chance and risk. You would want so badly to escape, but you would never find a way out. It would become your entire life, your entire future.

Once you entered, you would never be the same person, ever again—only a singular lost soul, walking the border between human and monster.


End file.
